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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29475336">A Dial to the Sun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runavik/pseuds/Runavik'>Runavik</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Anal Sex, Cultural Differences, Dom/sub Undertones, Healing Power of Love, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, Nobility politics, Oral Sex, Power Play, Quark/Odo vibes, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Ziyal is NOT in love with Garak but they ARE bffs, bisexual!Julian, don't worry they've still enough self-doubt and repression to keep things interesting, emotionally repressed!Garak, enhanced humans are magic users, invasions and war, is it still slow burn if they jump each others' bones five minutes after meeting, lots of minor characters references, then don't talk about it for a million years?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:02:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,657</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29475336</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runavik/pseuds/Runavik</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak is the dutiful Steward of Cardassia, charged with maintaining the kingdom until its rightful bloodline returns. The burden of duty all-encompassing, he allows himself one night out in disguise to shed his responsibilities. </p><p>Julian is a mage who has spent his youth training, preparing for his assignment to a kingdom. The night before his assignment, lost and frustrated, he meets the gaze of a somber man, and sets out to exert control over the last free night of his life. </p><p>A simple encounter ends up being anything but, when the new day bring with it the discovery that Julian has been assigned to Garak’s court. The two men agree to forget their encounter, but as  Cardassia faces the increasing threat of invasion, the two must discover who they are to each other, and where duty ends and trust begins. </p><p>A Fantasy AU with plenty of politicking, duty-bound-to-Cardassia Garak, and hot clandestine rendezvous.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julian Bashir/Elim Garak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Dial to the Sun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm a huge fan of Garashir AUs, and am excited to throw this addition in the ring. In particular, I'm wanted to explore Garak's insecurities and characteristics if he’d not been in the spy/intelligence business, but governing business. Same the need for control and compulsion for order, same underlying devotion to duty, but different tools and stakes. Something tells me there's going to be the same amount of angst, just directed at different targets. Garak is also slightly de-aged for this. Not a spry 20-something, but something younger than middle aged. </p><p>This fic incorporates a LOT more minor characters than those listed in the tags, but it doesn't feel appropriate to tag them all, since some of them are quite minor. They're more cameos, than anything. I've got a couple endings in mind, so if anyone has any guesses or suggestions in mind, I'm happy to take them!</p><p>There will be sexual content in later chapters, which I'll mark in notes for anyone who'd prefer to skip it. </p><p>Title is from "Hudibras" by Samuel Butler. "Loyalty is still the same, whether it win or lose the game; true as a dial to the sun, although it be not shined upon."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steel met steel, sparks flying. It would have been an impressive sight, Garak mused, if the clash of two swords had not been followed by a howl of pain.</p><p>“Are you trying to pop my shoulders out of their sockets?” The young man who had let out the cry dropped his sword, shaking out his arms across his body. His opponent, a burly man more than a little taller than him, shrugged; the blow had clearly not been a full effort for him. “Every time! Every time we switch to steel, he tries to knock the sword from my hands!”</p><p>It was an ideal day for training—gentle sun and a cool spring breeze far more forgiving than the heat and humidity that could make the same drills grueling in the summer.</p><p> “You can’t keep drilling with wooden swords forever,” Garak spoke, his voice cutting through the training yard. A lesson imminent, all the sparring pairs came to a still.</p><p>The recruit looked to the ground, a flush revealing his embarrassment at remembering who was present. Garak took a few steps forward, hands clasped behind his back. When he finally spoke again, he addressed not only the recruit, but all present. “The work of a guard necessitates hard work and dedication. Those who think it a comfortable job are sorely mistaken. Your job is to protect the kingdom, especially those who come to the castle for sanctuary and justice. Just because the castle is the site of celebrations, the capitol of this small kingdom, does not mean you can forego learning the fundamentals, such basics as <em>knowing how to use a sword.” </em>His voice turned sharp. “I say this not to frighten, but to acknowledge a fact. Your work is to protect and serve, through feast and famine. Peace…” he ran a hand over his chin, emphasizing the weight of his words, “and war.”</p><p>The newest batch of recruits had only been training for two months, but already five men had decided the work of a castle guard was not what they had envisioned and left, returning to their family farms and trades. The remaining group consisted of twenty-four youths, young men who particularly unnerved at Garak’s somber words at the moment. Most were at seventeen or younger, right on the cusp of manhood. Garak couldn’t remember being that young, though he knew it had not been that long ago.</p><p>“Inspiring words from our Steward,” a dry voice chimed in. Jadzia, captain of the guard, stepped forward from the far end of the drill line to meet Garak. Their eyes met. The corner of Jadzia’s mouth curled up in a smirk, hidden in the shade and imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know to look for it. Garak did. “Get back to the drills. Really allow each blow to internalize his wise words.”</p><p>Begrudgingly, the recruits hefted up their swords, resuming their training. Jadzia surveyed their movement for a minute before sauntering over to Garak. Holding out her arm, she invited her friend to follow her a short distance away from the trainees. Once the two were out of their earshot, his grin fully unfurled across her face. Merriment twinkled in her eye as she patted Garak’s broad back, then reached up to clasp his shoulder in a light grip.</p><p>“That was rather gloomy. I know the recruits are bad, but they always are for the first few months. What’s going on with you today?”</p><p>Garak dropped his voice, leaning down to meet Jadzia’s ear, “There are reports that some Vorta scouts have been seen in the north, by Holden.” Jadzia’s eyes widened, but she kept close. “It’s been making me think about preparedness and security. Keep it between the two of us for now, but I’m having the foreign council convene to discuss how to respond to this. I don’t want to unnecessarily escalate anything, but we can’t let this go unchecked.”</p><p>Jadzia nodded, “I understand.” Her sympathetic smile morphed into something more mischievous. “Shall I make them go through the training course after drills?”</p><p>Garak grinned in return, but shook his head. “Don’t punish them on my behalf. Just make sure that by next week they can hold on to their swords.”</p><p>“Yes, sir!”</p><p>With a nod, Jadzia turned away from Garak. Her attention refocused on the trainees, she began pacing along the line, barking corrections to grips, postures, and movement. No longer obligated to stay, Garak departed for the castle sanctum. It was nearing mid-morning, and he would be wanted at the Court of Justice. The hall was separate from the rest of the castle, a remnant from times past where the presence of peasants was found distasteful in the same building that housed royalty. Even so, Garak mused, it was rather ironic that those coming to seek peaceful ends to their problems through the law had to pass so close to the training guards. Perhaps it made for some more hasty resolutions.</p><p>As he entered the domed hall, the guard stationed just inside the entrance burst into attention, straightening his body and raising his chin. As Garak made his way to the front of the hall, the guard’s words echoed behind him, commanding the presence of those gathered seeking justice.</p><p> “Lords, ladies, and citizens, his Third Regent of the Kingdom, Elim Garak, Steward of Cardassia.”</p><p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</p><p>Garak was relieved to note his presence at the Court of Justice was not needed as long as normal. There had been some contention between two shopkeepers about the division of costs that had been incurred while fixing the roof of the building where they had both set up shop. It had been a straightforward assessment, and without other decisions needing his input or seal, he had taken an early leave and returned to the castle main. If only more days in the court could be like that. Garak had a healthy level of pride in his assessments, knowing the public’s favorable opinion of past decisions he’d made at the bench.</p><p>Three paces down the hall. Wrapped in this thought, that was as far as he made it before a niggling sense of guilt ran down his spine, his subconscious noticing where he was. His steps ceased, a room directly to his right, and he stood for a moment, debating whether to enter. A few seconds deliberation and his shoulders fell, his body visibly deflated as compulsion won over and he turned to enter the room.</p><p>The Bloodline Shrine.</p><p>The room held no pleasantness for him. Physically, it was a wretched space to be in. Iron bars sealed the narrow windows shut, holding in the stale, chilled air. The slivers of sun that made it in did nothing to warm the cold-cut stone that made up the floors and altar. That damn ring sat in its inlay on top of the alter, resting underneath a layer of glass. </p><p>It was a chapel, if chapels were cold, joyless spaces; a space for remembrance, if anyone had memories of that which was worth remembering. Even entering the room dredged up foul memories from his mind, unbeckoned admonishments from his father, barked remembrances to a child who should have been out waving wooden swords with the other sons of gentry.</p><p>
  <em>It’s not our right, is our obligation to bear. We watch over the throne, this kingdom, and its peoples. We do what we can, and pray to the Unknown of Many Names that we do not oversee its ruin. </em>
</p><p>Garak shook his head, trying to shake out echoes of Tain’s words. As quickly as he could, he lowered himself to one knee. Bowing his head, he murmured through the pledge he had been taught since he could speak to recite every day at the base of the shrine. “And upon the Elf-lord’s curse, before it could come to fruition, the King passed on his ring and rule, for the protection of the kingdom. And he and his blood departed from the kingdom, in wait for the day the curse is broken, and the rightful heir can return to the throne.”</p><p>The room stood silent and still in response, though Garak suddenly felt the weight of someone else’s presence settle upon him. He raised his hand to his face, touching his knuckles to his lips, then forehead, then back to his side. A breath, then Garak rose. “Are you going to pay your respects as well?”</p><p>Footsteps echoed from the doorway, the figure entering Garak’s field of vision. It was Master Sisko, legal scholar, and most trusted of his advisors. He had been a staple of the court even before Garak’s birth, and the young lord knew he had proved his trust and worth time and time again.</p><p>“I don’t believe that’s entirely necessary,” Sisko responded, “You pay homage enough for yourself, councilors, and staff alike.”</p><p>“I’m just doing what my father taught me,” Garak faced Sisko. “If you’re not going to offer your prayers, can I assume you’re here for me?”</p><p>“That assumption would be correct. I was tasked with finding you. Master Kira and I sought to hold your council this afternoon.”</p><p>“The Masters of Agriculture and Law seeking me at the same time? Don’t tell me Morn and Rom have escalated their bitter rivalry to include the two of you.”</p><p>Sisko snorted, a sound of dry amusement Garak had come to find oddly comforting over a lifetime of hearing it from the wise man. “Those two have been fighting over that cleft for half their lives, and will doubtless pass the conflict on to their offspring before retiring to the grave. No, we want to discuss the arrival of the Enhanced tonight.”</p><p>“Tonight?” Garak frowned, “I thought they were to come to court tomorrow.”</p><p>“They are, but their convoy arrives at the capitol tonight. I received word that they convoy is only a short distance away, and approaches fast. Their elders wrote that they will set up camp outside the capitol and hold the proper ceremonies before they bid farewell to their mage.”</p><p>“And is it the arrival of the Enhanced that you and Master Kira wish to discuss, or their mage?”</p><p>“To be honest, the latter,” Sisko said. “May I explain as we walk? Kira awaits us in my office.”</p><p>Garak inclined his head, and Sisko led the way out of the room, on a path past the Great Hall to the east wing of the castle. “I want to preface our discussion by emphasizing that receiving a court mage is no small matter.”</p><p>“Is Kira of a different opinion?”</p><p>“She…” Sisko weighed his words carefully, “…is of a practical mind, if not a particularly tactful approach. In communicating her wants, she may sound as if she is minimizing the significance of this assignment. If this is the case, I wish for you to remember that we have not had a mage since before your grandfather, when the rightful bloodline sat on the throne.” A fondness came over his face, “no Steward of Cardassia has had a mage in his court. This is to be something you will be remembered for, should you use their skills with wisdom and consideration.”</p><p>With those words, the two arrived at Sisko’s office. Kira stood at his desk, examining a brightly colored map of the Continent.</p><p>“The legend is still drying. I should ask for caution, lest it smudge.”</p><p>Kira straightened at Sisko’s warning, nodding a greeting to him and Garak. “I was admiring the brushstrokes. I simply must know who you used as cartographer—my map of state lands is practically falling apart.”</p><p>“I can write her as soon as we are finished here,” Sisko said. “Before that, I believe our counsel with the Steward should not take too long.”</p><p>“Indeed it should not,” Kira affirmed, “especially as I’ve heard our Steward has already expressed some excitement over tomorrow’s events?” She directed this query to Garak, who nodded his confirmation.</p><p>“It is an honor to have a tribe of Enhanced come to Cardassia. Their mage’s skills will be a valuable asset to the court and kingdom, and I’ve given the servants instruction to make the welcoming grand in recognition of the court’s new addition.”</p><p>“But are you particularly aware of the abilities mages hold?” Kira probed. Garak paused. His excitement had largely been borne of the joy and anticipation of others; he had not personally considered what skills the mage could bring.</p><p>“They are well versed in the study of meteorology and the stars, botany, and biology,” Kira continued, not making Garak admit the gap in his knowledge. “They can invoke favorable weather, prompt the growth of crops, and dispel blight.”</p><p>“Which is to recognize they are useful?”</p><p>“Which is to recognize that they are useful <em>in specific ways,” </em>Kira corrected. “I’ve known lords who thought a mage in their court would enable them to push their borders and strengthen their armies. They forgot that mages are only human. They are not elves, they are not dwarves, and they are certainly not of the fae. They may be gifted with the ability to harness magic, but that does not mean they have the power of the magical species. Moreover, they are powerful, but they are powerful in the way they have transcended their species’ limitations to manipulate what normal humans cannot. But their abilities do not translate to combat. They are suited to bettering the lands and securing domestic tranquility.”</p><p>She paused. “That is to say, I have advice and a request. Please do not heighten your expectations until you have gotten the chance to speak to the mage about their strengths and skills, and have witnessed their work firsthand.”</p><p>“And the request?” Garak wryly asked.</p><p>“I wish to ensure I have access to the mage’s counsel in the first few weeks,” Kira admitted. No false shyness, no hedging. “Talk among courts mirrors that found in kingdom records: even the poorest mage are suited to boosting a country’s yields. There are already indications that we may have a drought late this summer, and it would be wise for me to begin consult with the mage right away to assess the truth of these signs, and begin work on mitigating any harm if need be.”</p><p>“As Master of Law, I second this wisdom of this plan,” Sisko added, “Domestic conflicts always rise when there are food shortages. An empty belly leads to short tempers, after all. Ensuring there are sizable stores for the winter is the best defense we have to civic unrest and nuisance charges.” </p><p>Garak had to admit Kira was a sensible woman. She had earned title of Master of Agriculture when he was still a child, and while he had never clicked with her the way he had Master Sisko, he respected her for her practicality over her tenure. Her concern was not to be liked, but to plan. Her preparations six years prior had prevented the eastern cities from starving over winter when their grain stores had unexpectedly been destroyed from rot. Knowing how badly the situation could have ended up, and how many lives could have been lost, Garak knew from that year on that he could trust her shrewd mind to do what was best for the kingdom.</p><p>“I thank you for your thoughts, and assure you that you will have dedicated time with the mage to explore what they may do for Cardassia’s agriculture and husbandry. My own expectations remain tempered,” Garak added, “though that may have been due to my own lack of knowledge on the subject of mages, rather than the wisdom you and Master Sisko demonstrate.”</p><p>“Ah, but self-deprecation is hardly your color,” Sisko responded, “not when you’re holding audience with Master Kira and I, and certainly not when you are holding audience in public or at court.”</p><p>Garak’s neck flushed at Sisko’s words. He hoped his collar covered it. Being steward was difficult enough; he would do himself no favors to make disparaging remarks about himself for others to hear. In his core, he knew there would be voices enough critiquing his decisions, though he found it no easier to stifle the critical words that seemed to bubble up inside him whenever a light was shone on his shortcomings.</p><p>“A worthy lesson to remember,” he said instead. “I thank you both for your thoughts on this manner. Be assured I will go into the gifting tomorrow with high honor, reasonable hope, and few expectations. Was there anything else you wished to discuss?”</p><p>“No, that was it,” Kira’s attention was already turned back to the map at her side. “We thank you for your time, and I shall keep you updated on my meetings with the mage once they are assigned.”</p><p>“Right, then. I’ll be off.”</p><p>As Garak departed, Kira’s voice trailed off until it was lost under the echoes of his footsteps.”</p><p>“And you say she’s still but a student? I would not have believed it, looking at the craftsmanship on the mountain detail…”</p><p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</p><p><em>Damn it, damn it, damn it all</em>. The dread in Garak’s stomach only continued to grow as he made his way through the hallways. He knew there was no choice associated with gaining a court mage, but to have the potential uselessness of the mage pressed upon him made him feel even more powerless. He did not expect Cardassia to receive a powerful mage. Few Enhanced were born with natural ability to harness magic, and they were not assigned to courts until they completed training, which was, at the least, a decade-long process. Even by the time mages graduated with the knowledge and ability to serve at court, the mightier human kingdoms were often favored assignments for the more impressive magic-users.</p><p>By the time Garak reached the Great Hall, though, he had to admit the knots in his stomach were not purely the result of his frustration. His stomach was growling—a rather undignified noise that he had tried to stifle while in the presence of the Court magistrates and subjects– signaling displeasure at his distraction from both of the day’s meals so far. It was a short walk from Master Sisko’s office to the castle’s lower corridors, a path familiar and comforting to him. And because he was a glutton for the familiar, there was only one place he wanted to go to rectify the problem.</p><p>Garak recalled being brought along to visit another kingdom for a wedding when he was a young man, before his father had passed. The Bajoran kingdom lay to the West, and Garak wasn’t sure if it was a Bajoran thing or due to the sheer size of the kingdom, but the capitol Dahkur and its castle had been leagues bigger than Cardassia. The shock of the size—of the crowds of citizens in the capitol, the towering spires of the castle, and the cavernous throne room—stilled then shocked his heart like wading into a cold river. As the Bajoran lord’s wedding feast had worn down, drunken revelers making up the majority of those remaining in the hall, Garak had wandered off to explore the castle’s corridors and views. Built from the mountainside’s craigs and clefts, the hallways followed veins of quartz. Windows lined in marble overlooked spectacular views of the capitol. Under the curious supervision of the castle guards he had explored the buttery and kitchens, the latter of which had impressed itself upon Garak’s memory.</p><p>Countless ovens lined the far wall, roaring in preparation for the following day’s breakfast. Nearly three-dozen staff bustled about, preparing roasts, plating cheeses and breads, and simmering porridge. It was far more an impressive undertaking than anything that had taken place back home, where gatherings seldom warranted feasts, and could be whipped together by the standard staff of five.</p><p>But there was one thing the kitchens beyond Cardassia’s borders lacked, Garak thought as he entered the galley, seeing his oldest friend at work.</p><p>Ziyal was what men conjured in their minds when they imagined a baker. Short and plush, her movements were as springy as the dough she worked, her own countenance rosy as the bread she baked. Flour had come to rest in a light dusting over her body and clothes, as Garak swore it did whenever she was in a kitchen. Though her hair was tied back, the wisps that perpetually escaped the pins came to curl around her face. With the flames of the oven behind her, it created a warm glow around her: a patron saint of bakers.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Her words were scolding, but her tone was light and playful. “Do they not feed you enough when they bring breakfast to your chambers?”</p><p>“Oh Ziyal, how can suggest that any meal compares to your baking?” Garak grinned. His flattery hit its mark, Ziyal’s smile blooming to match his. Grabbing a metal spatula, she crossed the room to a large tray, laden with fluffy mounds of freshly baked pastries. She gently scraped a golden bun from the sheet, taking it up in her fingertips. The bun bounced from hand to hand as she made her way back to Garak.</p><p>“Careful, it’s hot,” she cautioned, passing over the prize. Sure enough, the bun was hot to the touch. “Wait, here.” From her skirts, Ziyal pulled out a napkin, handing it over to Garak to wrap the baked good.</p><p>Garak did so, making sure to leave one side of the bun unwrapped for easy access. “Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”</p><p>“You could try eating the breakfast that’s brought to you,” another teasing smile.</p><p>“I didn’t have time. Last week Jadzia asked me to join the guard’s morning training. Apparently, they’re starting to slack, and she was hoping my presence would inspire them to put a little more effort into their morning drills. I’ve been heading out to the courtyard every morning since and haven’t had time to eat before. By the time their training is done, I have to head to the judicial court, and depending on how disagreeable the vassals are being to each another, I could find myself into the afternoon without having eaten.”</p><p>“The life of nobility is truly taxing. And have the vassals been agreeable today?”</p><p>Garak let out a single chuckle, prodding and examining the bun as he answered. “More so than usual. Usually Morn and Rom are at each other’s throats over ownership over the valley cleft, but it seems like their attentions have been diverted by the exceptionally bountiful litters they’ve been having with their sows. I’m counting on at least two weeks of this diversion before they remember their feud.”</p><p>The bun’s temperature must have met his satisfaction, and he tentatively bit into the dough. “Oh heavens, that is delicious.” Another bite, and something seemed to cross his mind. “I’m due in the Great Hall. Can I return the napkin to you later?”</p><p>Ziyal was already waving him on, her attention turned back to the tray of buns she had fetched Garak’s pastry from. “Go on, that’s fine.”</p><p>Ziyal was a true friend, an unexpected gift Garak often wondered if he truly deserved. They had met during their childhood, when her family joined the Cardassia castle staff. Shortly after, responsibilities began to fill his days, keeping him away from his peers as a young man. His father’s death may have resulted in his lordship, but it cut him off from any opportunities to develop new friendships, or seek romance. It never felt right to pursue love—or lust—first as the son of the Steward, then as the Steward of the land.</p><p>“…but you know, I just heard something earlier today that I thought you might be interested in.”</p><p>Garak paused mid-turn, shifting weight back from his heel to face Ziyal once again. “What is it?”</p><p>“No, forget I said anything. I don’t know why I thought of you when I heard it,” Ziyal said, a mischievous glint in her eye even as she began removing buns from the tray, feigning nonchalance.”</p><p>“<em>Ziyal</em>…”</p><p>“Okay, fine. I’m sure you know the Enhanced arrive tonight? And they’ll be setting up camp outside the capitol limits for however long they’ll be staying?”</p><p>“However long they’ll be staying?”</p><p>“You know the Enhanced. Those nomads could stay for a week or a month, nobody can tell until they’re all packed up and half of them are on the move already. But what matters isn’t how long they stay, it’s what’s happening the first night they’re here: the night before their mage’s assignment to you.”</p><p>“To Cardassia,” Garak corrected, “what’s happening tonight?</p><p>“So I was talking to Jake—the minstrel’s apprentice—and he said that when he was in Sarbat the Queen there was assigned a mage. The night before, the Enhanced threw this huge farewell celebration in their camp. Some of the palace staff went, and it was a big deal. Tons of food, dancing, bonfires, and music. There were Enhanced and citizens of the capitol and peasants all there. It’s like the only time he’d heard of non-Enhanced being in the camps. He even said some of the Enhanced elders were doing magic tricks, turning campfire smoke into illustrations to tell stories. They even tell stories about the Light-bringer, who gave them magic to dowse water and command the elements in the unforgiving deserts. Of their ancestors, whose cities were swallowed by the sands and who travelled here from the West.” Ziyal’s eyes were bright in excitement of the marvels that had been reported. “He said that this caravan will undoubtedly hold a celebration for their mage, too.”</p><p>“And you…. want to go?” Garak hesitated, suspecting what else she wanted.</p><p>“And you should come too!”</p><p>“Ziyal, you know that’s a terrible idea.”</p><p> “You should!” Ziyal insisted. “Think about this: you don’t know what to expect when it comes to the mage—don’t deny it,” she squeezed in, seeing Garak’s mouth start to open in protest.</p><p>“I’m not, it’s just…why do you think that?”</p><p>“Because I know you,” Ziyal said. “You don’t have to say anything about it. You always get morose before a big decision or event, and look at you: you keep picking at your bun, and your jaw is so tense I’m surprised you haven’t cracked a tooth. And let’s be frank. I’m sure Master Sisko said something to get your nerves through the roof.”</p><p>“Him and Master Kira, actually. It’s merely…” Garak thought for a moment, “I can’t just go out and be festive. I have responsibilities I need to tend to. Even if I did go, how would that look? The Steward scoping out the Enhanced camp, trying to appraise his mage to make sure he doesn’t get a white elephant.”</p><p>“It’s fine, I knew even as I said it that it’s not your kind of thing,” Ziyal shrugged. “But don’t think about it as the Steward trying to get a sneak peek at his newest tool. Think of it…” she reached forward, tugging the napkin out of Garak’s hand, and wrapping it around his head like a grandmother’s kerchief, “as a common son of a clerk—who just happens to be <em>very handsome </em>and regal-like—going out with his baker friend and <em>her</em> friends to see whether the Enhanced are as mysterious and mystical as everyone says they are.”</p><p>Her fist holding the cloth’s corners at his neck came up to give him a soft, friendly chuck under the chin. “What do you say?”</p><p>“I seriously doubt <em>handsome </em>is a good descriptor for me, my dear.”</p><p>“C’mon,” Ziyal raised her eyebrows. “For me?”</p><p>“I don’t really think I have any clothes for that.”</p><p>“Sure you do. I’ll come to your chambers tonight and help you put something together.”</p><p>“You really think I have something that hides <em>how</em> <em>very regal-like</em> I look?” A teasing grin.</p><p>“It’ll be hard, but I think we can pull it off.”</p><p>“You’ve convinced me, my dear. I’ll see you after sunset.”</p>
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